


Three Doorways

by notwisely



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Kind of a Bummer (sorry), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 13:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely/pseuds/notwisely
Summary: The war is over. It's time to get to work.





	Three Doorways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gogollescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogollescent/gifts).



> there's no new major character death, the pre-existing one's just... still hanging out. also i'm not sure the callbacks are numerous enough but they sure are dumb!

Sometimes Mako schedules thirty minutes of lying in a bunk and staring at nothing into his day. Often, he is  _ very efficient _ and gets all the staring done in fifteen. Often, he goes back to work after. Sometimes he calls Aria.

"Hey," Her face pops up, a little grainy, a little tired. Mako folds his arms behind his head, squints up at the screen projected on the ceiling an arms-length above him. He shifts a little so that his rubber-duck print silk robe (a favorite) isn't bunched up underneath him.

"Hey," says Mako. He tries on a smile, but it feels like a lie, so he swaps it out for a wide-eyed faux-earnest solemnity that fits much better, "So, I heard the new single." The new single has a bridge that's entirely played by what sounds like a handbell choir. The lyrics prominently feature words that rhyme with "ringing". Mako wasn't sure whether to roll his eyes or laugh, the first time he heard it—which,  _ that's _ a new experience.

He gives Aria some shit for it, they talk around the latest news of manufacturing plants going down on Slate, then Aria glances over her shoulder, "Oh, sorry Mako, I gotta run. You know how it is," she gives him a crooked grin, "Duty calls." 

The connection flickers out before Mako has time to do more than wave. He lays there for another minute and tries not to be pissed that Aria chose Jacqui and AuDy chose September and Cass chose self-immolation– that's unfair. But Mako chose  _ them, _ and, well.

He flops over.  _ Hey, _ Mako thinks abruptly,  _ I bet Orth misses us. _ He tugs on the mesh a little, tapping into the bright line of data that keeps him connected to Orth. (There's one for Aria, and one for Jacqui too. He's just keeping an eye out.) A few minutes of fiddling and he's helpfully upgraded Orth's comm unit so that it'll play Aria's new single whenever someone tries to call.  _ Nice. _

The timer buzzes and Mako's rolling off the bunk and out the door before it can finish, already pulling up the blueprints for the next factory as the door slides shut behind him with a pressurized hiss. It's time to get to work.

*

Orth runs a quick search before the ship has even fully touched down in Vox, and when he steps into the spaceport he heads directly for the bar which, a gentle ping on his wristband's map display informs him, is a brisk eight minute's walk away. It's called  _ The Voice of Reason _ and Orth already knows it will be just the right flavor of dimly-lit and dark wood paneled, with light ambient music and semi-private booths. 

He's two minutes away when a flickering neon sign across the street catches his eye. Orth pauses for a moment, then takes a sharp right across the street and into a small side alley. The soft ping on his wrist display turns into an irritated buzz, but Orth ignores it. A bell above the door tinkles gaudily as Orth pushes it open. "I know I have a coupon here somewhere," he mutters, patting his pockets absentmindedly.

Even with the slight detour, Orth is five minutes early. The representatives for Vox Systems Incorporated are already there, dressed in sharply-creased pleated formalwear. They goggle a little as he enters, and Orth smiles genially. 

"Executive– ah, Mr. Godlove, we would certainly have provided refreshments if we'd known…" the woman trails off helplessly.

"Don't worry, I had a little extra time on my hands. Help yourselves!" Orth sets the bucket of chicken on the table and nudges it forward. They don't. 

There's a presentation. There's some business. Vox Systems is very eager to prove that they can supply the Orion Conglomerate with higher-quality, cheaper parts than any of their competitors. Orth wipes his hands on a napkin, shakes theirs, then heads out again. He's due at the spaceport before dusk.

The next stop is a factory inspection out near Wreathe. The missive from the management doesn't call for an on-site visit but, hey, Orth likes the travel. He's on his way to being the most well-traveled man in the Golden Branch Sector. The voice in his head that sounds like Attar— _ Ibex, _ Orth thinks, spitefully, then,  _ Attar, _ half-apologetically—notes that if he were a small fish in a small pond on Counterweight, this glimpse into the vast sprawl of Oricon is like being dumped into an ocean. And is a fish anything more than a drop to the ocean?

But that's fine, Orth thinks. He never aspired to rule empires, corporate or otherwise. It's fine. He likes the travel. 

And if, after Wreathe, there's Coral, Slighter, and Gemm—well, there's work to be done, and someone has to do it. 

Orth steps onto the ship. It's nothing like the Kingdom Come, of course, but his gaze catches and lingers on the copilot's seat all the same. Once– well, it's not important. He sits down in the back, flicking open his datapad as the door to the cockpit clicks shut.

*

_ HOUSE PELAGIOS _ reads the plaque on the wall. Aria trails her fingers over it as she walks by. There are  _ Please Do Not Touch _ signs up all over the museum, but—she's Aria Joie. She knows this exhibit by heart. She does a circuit anyway: it's a memorial. A penance. 

It's tucked into a small alcove, and through the high, arched entrances she can see Mako's name, and AuDy's, and her own. Between the doorways are glass-covered shelves: rows of childhood toys, Sokrates' old uniform, a dress cape Euanthe wore at state events. In the corner there's a replica of an Apostolosian funerary boat. 

Aria circles back to the plaque, eyes skimming over the familiar paragraphs.  _ While Sokrates Nikon founded the Demarchy, returning from exile to dissolve the Apostolosian Empire and take up responsibilities the then-Apokine had long neglected, they never sought to retain power, eventually ceding authority to Cassander Timaeus Berenice. Cassander, more ambitious and militant than their sibling, devoted themself to expanding the reaches of the Demarchy and restoring the glory of the former Empire. _

Cass would have laughed, reading it, Aria thinks. Or– or maybe gone narrow-eyed and silent, they way they'd so often been after September. She's not sure, she realizes, and that's another loss, more kindling into the funeral pyre that was never lit. She should be used to it by now, Aria thinks. 

Just outside the room, there's a holovid of Cass, dressed in their Iatrokos uniform, sleeves rolled up as they bend over a surgery table. As Aria watches, there's a buzz of static, and the medic's tent flickers into the stifling red-orange of September's sky. Cass looks up, their face framed by the helmet of the Apokine, and Aria manages to hold their gaze for nearly a second longer than last time before she drops her eyes. When she glances back up, Cassander is packing up their tools, shooting a half-smile to someone unseen, and the display jumps to a projection of Orth on Counterweight. 

_ Time to go, _ says Righteousness, a low, eager, hum between her shoulder blades,  _ problems to solve, planets to fix. _ It's right, of course. Aria steps out of the museum, blinking a little in the bright sunlight. There's work to do.


End file.
